


Through The Door

by notjoelmiller



Category: The Last of Us (Video Games)
Genre: Angst, Canon-Typical Violence, Character Death, F/M, pretty straight forward story ig, sorry about this guys, sorry this is not a gender neutral reader :(
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-26
Updated: 2020-10-26
Packaged: 2021-03-08 20:08:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,039
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27202258
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/notjoelmiller/pseuds/notjoelmiller
Summary: There's not much time left for you. You sit on opposite sides of the door, talking and reminiscing during your last moments together.
Relationships: Joel (The Last of Us)/Reader
Comments: 1
Kudos: 23





	Through The Door

**Author's Note:**

> uh I have like 20 different things in the work but I guess this one idea that I had at like noon today is going to be the only thing that I can finish writing and put out and on a SUNDAY night

You cleared that room.

You cleared it with Joel, and you even checked under the bed and behind the curtains.

“Go check those cabinets for supplies, just in case,” Joel said. And you listened, because _you cleared the room._

So when a gunshot rang through the house, you bolted back to Joel.

Joel was on the floor, breathing heavy. The limp body of a clicker laid on top of him. A chunk of the clicker’s head laid about four feet in front of him, and there was blood everywhere. It painted the walls, floors, and Joel himself.

You rushed to get the clicker off of Joel, but he pushed you away- no, he didn’t push you, he _shoved you._ His chest rose and fell, and there was a bewildered look in his eyes, one that you had only seen when he was truly panicked. He scampered away, so that his back faced you, shuddering with each breath.

“Joel?” You asked tentatively. You padded over to him, and knelt down so that you were nearly against his back. “Love, what’s wrong?” You placed your hand on his shoulder, then immediately wrenched it away. Blood, _crimson blood,_ coated your hand. 

There was a difference between infected and normal blood. Normal, living, blood was bright and stunk of metal. Infected blood was pale and smelled of mildew and staleness. The longer an infected went without tearing someone apart, the more anemic and stale their blood became.

You examined the blood on your hand. It wasn’t from that clicker. Its blood was so much paler, pouring from its cracked skull. It surely wasn’t your blood either. You were unscathed.

“Joel?” You asked. There was a prayer at the tip of your tongue, begging whatever deity there was, watching over you, that your suspicions weren’t true.

But what deity that would damn the world to eternal suffering would grant you a simple favor? 

“Darlin’, I need you to leave.” Joel’s voice was soft and low. His hand came up to the side of his neck, right where yours was moments before. “Please…”

Joel never cried in front of you. You surely cried in front of him at many points of your relationship, but never once did he shed a tear. It didn’t change this time. You sobbed and whimpered as he forced you out of the room. When he pulled you in for one last kiss before slamming the door, your tears wet his cheeks.

Joel told you to leave after that. He told you not to wait for him, to get a move on. He said that he would take care of it. 

You stayed.

The first few hours consisted of silence. It was only broken by you asking him how he was feeling. He didn’t really answer you, only grunting a one-word answer. If you didn’t know him better, you would assume that he had turned.

Watching the sun set, you were reminded of your daily routine. Joel played the guitar on the rocking chair, while you sipped the sweet tea he made. He’d always ask you what song you wanted to hear, but you never could answer. The truth was, no matter what song he played, you were content.

“Joel,” you started, secretly longing for a glass of tea, “Why’d you always ask me what I wanted to hear?”

He knew what you were talking about. He thought about the same thing as he watched golden rays of light illuminate the drying blood and the limp clicker. 

Joel chuckled, “I wanted to make sure I wasn’t boring you.” His neck was starting to throb, and a sickening heat began to spread in his veins, but he wasn’t going to tell you. Instead, he continued, “Why’d you never answer?”

Joel heard you laugh through the door, but it was followed by a sniffle. “Because I’d never get bored of you, Mr. Miller.”

“Not now?” Joel asked, the first tears spilling from his eyes.

“Especially not now.”

On opposite sides of the door, you and Joel sat. You reminisced over your past, and you thought about what could have been. Each of you cried, but never mentioned it. As the hours passed, Joel became quieter and quieter. He stopped talking as much, leaving you to carry the conversation, with him only offering a word or two as an interjection or answer. 

So many hours had gone by that you lost count. It was sometime the next night, and if you weren’t so preoccupied, you would have been concerned that nobody had come looking for you. Despite the time, you still sat on the opposite side of the door.

“You know,” you said. You had no more tears. There was no time for them. “This isn’t how I expected it to go.”

Joel was quiet, but he shuffled on the other end. You continued, “I thought we’d have a kid or two. I was thinking if it was a boy- we’d name him after Tommy. How does that sound? We’d name him after Tommy and call him Junior. If we have another boy, maybe we’ll name him after my daddy. What do you think?”

He said nothing. You continued, more panicked.

“I want to grow old together, Joel. I want to wake up every morning and count the new wrinkles on your face. I want to be that old couple in love. I want you to complain about your bad back, and I want to complain that my hair’s getting too gray. I want-”

Your voice cracked. Joel still didn’t respond.

“I want to have grandkids. I want you to read them a bedtime story. Hell, you don’t even need a book. I’m sure you’d come up with something, Joel. You’re good at that. You’d be such a good granddaddy, Joel.”

There was a gurgling behind the door.

“Joel? Joel, what do you think? Would I be a good grandma? I think I’d be the kind to bake cookies or-or knit a sweater. I hope I’ll be a good grandma. Do you think I will?”

He didn’t respond, but the gurgling became louder. Something banged against the door, and you lurched forward.

“Joel? Are you there?”

Silence.

You turned to face the door.

“Joel?”

**Author's Note:**

> anyways please leave comments because those make me <3 <3 <3 don't mean to sound like a thirsty bitch but it's the truth luvs


End file.
